


Obligation

by ion_bond



Category: Fried Green Tomatoes (1991), Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe - Fannie Flagg
Genre: Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Yuletide New Year's Resolutions Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-25
Updated: 2005-10-25
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ion_bond/pseuds/ion_bond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruth Jamieson Bennett is back in Whistle Stop, living in Idgie's parents' house. After four years apart, what do they owe each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obligation

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2005 for Caitren Torres's unfulfilled Yuletide request.

September 21, 1928

Idgie was lying flat on her back in the unmowed yard, listening hard and trying to seem like she wasn’t. Her parents were shut up in the parlor with Ruth, talking. It wasn’t fair; they could see her fine from the rear-facing windows if they looked, but the day’s heat was just starting to disperse and the back door was still closed, keeping her from hearing a goddamn thing out here. When Ruth came out of the house, Idgie propped herself up on her elbows immediately.

“What did they say?”

Ruth sat down in the grass and arranged her skirt around her. “They made me welcome.” She smiled, sweet as pie. “It’s good to be back.”

Idgie sank back down, embarrassed by all the fuss. The last thing Ruth probably needed was to be smothered. Idgie stared up at the treetops, late-summer green and full. The sun was low in the sky. “Momma and Poppa . . . I hope they didn’t make you feel like you have to stay here,” she said. “Because you don’t, you know.”

Ruth was quiet for a minute. “I don’t have anywhere else to go right now. But I imagine I’ll figure something else.”

“Good,” Idgie said, trying to sound unconcerned. She wasn’t sure what Ruth meant, but she found that she couldn’t look directly at the other woman. She picked a long stem of grass and tore it into strips.

Ruth stood up in a sudden swirl of cotton. Idgie could smell her perfume, a powdery gasp of lavender and talcum. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Yeah,” said Idgie.

This was a lie. She wanted Ruth to stay forever -- she always had. The way that Ruth was still for a minute, standing with her hands clasped together in front of her belly, her body half-facing the house, gave Idgie hope that she could tell. Neither of them said anything. Idgie wished she knew what Ruth was thinking. The silence was as heavy as the air.

Finally, she moved, dipped her head and turned. Idgie let out a breath that she hadn’t known she was holding and watched her walk back across the lawn and up the steps into the house, her skirt swaying gently back and forth.

Idgie grabbed a double-handful of grass. The crickets were chirping.

\+ + +

Ruth lay on her back with the door to the guest room closed and her eyes open, watching the shadows move across the striped wallpaper and travel down the white coverlet. Sipsey and Ninny were downstairs in the kitchen, busy with the supper dishes; their voices drifted in through the open window with a faint breeze. It was dusk, now. The ancient mattress sagged comfortably, rolling her into the middle of the bed and cradling her there. She was tired, but she didn’t want to sleep.

A forceful knock that pushed the door right open, and there was Idgie, framed against the bright rectangle of the doorway. It was like her never to do something in two steps that could be accomplished in one.

“What are doing, lying here in the dark?” she asked like nothing had happened, but Ruth could hear the wariness in her voice.

“Come in,” she said politely. “I’m just waiting.” She sat up against the cold iron headboard and pulled in her legs Indian-style to make room.

Idgie didn’t move from the hallway. “Waiting for what?”

“You.” She patted the spot on the bed next to her and looked carefully away, out the open window to the red maples that grew with the crabapple trees beyond the railroad tracks. “It was a nice sunset, just now. The sky was real pretty.”

Ruth could hear Idgie’s bare feet on the floorboards, slow and careful, and then the bedsprings groaned. Mrs. Threadgood was right, Ruth thought. It is like taming a wild animal.

“’Still is pretty,” Idgie said. “All . . . pink.” She was sitting right on the edge of the outspread skirt of Ruth’s dress, her thigh almost touching Ruth’s knees through the light fabric. Ruth reached down and tugged the cloth out from where it was trapped.

“Sorry,” Idgie said hurriedly, and made like she was going to scoot away down the length of the bed.

Ruth stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Stay still for a minute?” she asked, very conscious of the bare inch of space between her naked knees and Idgie’s leg. She could feel the other woman’s body heat through the overalls Idgie was wearing, or maybe she was just imagining things.

There was no sense in beating around the bush. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Leave?” Idgie laughed. It sounded forced. “This is your room.”

“It’s your house, Idgie. If you want me to find another place, I will. Do you?” She tilted her head, letting her hair fall across her face to protect her from the answer, but Idgie didn’t speak.

“You know I left to be with you,” Ruth said.

Idgie looked up at her through her pale eyelashes, and Ruth could see the six-years age difference between them, clearer than ever. “You did?”

“‘Thy people shall be my people,’” Ruth reminded. “If I just wanted a ride out of Valdosta, I would have sent y’all a different Bible verse.”

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted. I just knew what you had to get away from.” Idgie was meeting her eyes now, but she was staring up defiantly, like she thought she was telling Frank Bennett. “I didn’t really think about anything past getting you out of that goddamn house and into Julian’s truck.”

Ruth picked up a corner of the coverlet, twisted it between her fingers. “I’m grateful, you know. Thank you for -- ” but Idgie was leaning in, covering Ruth’s mouth with her own and smothering the rest of the thought. It was a clumsy kiss, clumsier than the one Ruth remembered from four summers ago, in the woods by the bee-tree, but every bit as sweet.

Idgie rocked back toward the bed’s footboard like she was spooked. “I didn’t want you to have to say that.” She drew her knees up to her chin, like protection. “Anyone could have come got you, Ruth. Someone should have done, years ago. I want it to have been special, heroic, but it wasn’t -- I had to wait to be told. You don’t owe me a thing more than you owe Big George and Julian.” She almost smiled. “They carried most of your stuff, anyhow.”

Ruth pushed Idgie’s knees apart and leaned forward into the gap, close to her face. “It means a lot to me that you were there.” She kissed Idgie first on one cheek, then on the other, like a sister.

“Shush.”

Ruth kissed her on the mouth. “All right, I will.” She’d forgotten how soft a woman’s lips were. “Let’s both be quiet.”

“Wait.” Idgie swung her legs off the bed. “Maybe we should shut the door?”

Ruth lay down slowly, her head at the footboard. “Yes.” Idgie closed the door, eliminating the warm triangle of light from the hallway. The room was dim without it, dim and blue-tinged, like the barely-summer dusk outside.

Idgie got back on the bed and the springs creaked. “I can’t believe it’s almost October. So late in the year.” She leaned over and kissed Ruth softly. “Do you mind?”

“No.” As she said it, she was certain that it was the truth. Ruth was the kind of person who almost always knew what she wanted. She’d never try and fool herself out of it again. She lifted her arms the way she imagined a ballet dancer would do as Idgie slid on top of her and started to undo the buttons of her dress. The room was cool now, and so was Ruth’s skin. Idgie’s mouth was warm.

Her dress was open to the waist. Idgie reached around inside, her touch making Ruth’s skin prickle, searching for the clasp of her brasserie.

“Do you want me to . . .”

Idgie laughed. “I’m good at these,” she said, and yes, Ruth’s breasts were free. Ruth removed her arms from the sleeves of the dress and slipped off the brasserie.

Idgie sat back to look. “Mmhmm,” she said appreciatively, and then she was back close enough for Ruth to smell her, vanilla and spicy cinnamon. Her tongue was in Ruth’s mouth, quick and slippery, her hands on the sides of Ruth’s breasts, the thumbs rubbing slow circles around her nipples. The warm mouth and darting tongue moved down to Ruth’s neck.

Ruth tried not to let her eyes widen in surprise. The contrast between the girl in the doorway and the person doing these things to her body was striking. “Idgie Threadgood, how is it that you seem to know exactly what you’re doing?”

“Natural talent,” she said, too quickly. Ruth wondered how she had been keeping herself busy for the last few years. She stored the thought away for later.

“What should I do?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Idgie, looking up. “Nothing you don’t want to.”

Ruth lifted her head. Idgie’s face was buried in the between her breasts now, her tow-colored hair glowing in the almost dark room. Ruth wanted to kiss her, but she couldn’t reach. She tilted her own pelvis and lifted her hips. “Take off my dress.”

Idgie pulled at the full skirt and the slip and they came off together. She kissed Ruth lower, right below the ribs on the left side.

“Come here,” Ruth said, grabbing at the straps of Idgie’s overalls.

“No thank you, ma’am. I like it fine down here.” Idgie kissed Ruth’s belly. “There. You just relax, now.”

Ruth did. Here she was, lying on her back in Momma Treadgood’s guest room, nothing on but her underwear, Idgie tracing lines down her abdomen, and she felt almost comfortable. Not scared, but tired and clean and deserving.

Idgie paused. “Are you all right, Ruth?”

“We’ve waited.” That wasn’t an answer.

“Yeah,” said Idgie, pulling down the cotton panties. “Four years.” Ruth spread her legs, silently, waiting for Idgie to do something, the way she had always waited for Frank.

This was different from anything before. She was the daughter of a minister; she trusted herself to figure out right and wrong.

“Hey, look at me.” Ruth did, trying to recover her calm from a moment before. “I don’t want to do anything but what you want,” said Idgie. “Ever. You hear me?”

She looked up at the ceiling. “I know, honey.”

“This is for you. I love you.” Idgie kissed her belly again, soft and feathery. “I . . . I wish I could just make up for letting you go.”

Ruth didn’t say anything. She had been trying not to feel the anger ever since it started building up on her wedding night. No, before then. She wasn’t always sure who she was angry at, but she pushed it down it just the same, tamped it like gunpowder in an old-time rifle.

“Do you want to know what I told your parents? I told them that I never should have left.”

“Of course you shouldn’t have. Doesn’t mean it was your fault.”

“I thought about you,” Ruth told her. “Every single day.”

That seemed to break the spell, or else it was close enough to permission to satisfy Idgie. Her mouth was down there, in between Ruth’s legs, her tongue, small and clever, and Ruth had no idea what it was doing, but it burned like nothing Frank ever did had burned. Fast. Fast and wet and good.

She looked, but Idgie’s head was in the way. She had her eyes screwed tight, and her hands were on Ruth’s hips, her thumbs caressing the smooth skin that never got touched. Something about what Idgie was doing, the pressure of it, made Ruth want to grab for Idgie’s blond hair and pull. Ruth bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. She grabbed at the chenille coverlet, wanting to scream. It was pleasure. Pleasure.

She sighed instead, a great big “Ahhhh,” and Idgie raised her head, her face flushed.

Ruth sat up abruptly. She felt exposed, just lying there naked on the top of the bed, even with the door closed and the parents’ blessing.

“I love you,” Idgie said. She looked scared, and somehow that made Ruth feel better.

She smoothed her hair. It was almost long enough to cover her breasts, long, like it was before she was married. “I never felt anything quite like that before.”

“That whoring rat-bastard . . . “ Idgie trailed off. “I’m sorry. You know what I mean.” She took Ruth’s hand. “I love you.”

Ruth knew she loved Idgie right back, but she couldn’t get the words past her proud lips, despite all of her intentions. “I want to be with you,” she said instead. “Where you go, I will follow. ‘Where thou lodgest, I will lodge.’”

“Well, for now, I lodgest here. I hope you don’t mind staying.”

“No, Idgie. Your family has been nothing but kind, and I have such good memories of this house. . . ”

“Don’t start saying thank yous. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.” Idgie said, as if she were reading her mind. She looked suddenly young again, and vulnerable.

Ruth sighed. “I love you,” she said. “I always did.”

She knew some kinds of obligation can’t be allowed to stand.


End file.
